


Crowley's Other Arrangement

by LadyNickname



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bottom Crowley (Good Omens), M/M, Mutual Pining, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-22
Updated: 2019-06-22
Packaged: 2020-05-16 10:35:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19316452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyNickname/pseuds/LadyNickname
Summary: It was easy enough to find that one incubus who owed him a favor or two, and ask him to take the shape of the angel. And that was that. And by "that" he meant the most satisfying and yet unsatisfactory experience of his life.





	Crowley's Other Arrangement

**Author's Note:**

> I blame this song: https://youtu.be/4QEVZ-9-nX0

The first time had happened in Rome. They had had oysters together, and spent a rather lovely evening. That was when Crowley knew he could no longer ignore that yearning… that deep, insatiable need to touch and be touched, to kiss, grab and bite. He figured it was mostly a carnal affair. He wanted the angel. People are always attracted to the forbidden fruit. He had seen to that personally, actually. So he did what any self-respecting demon would do, and gave in to his craving. And well, since it was in his best interest to remain on the angel's good side (he kept repeating that to himself: he was merely keeping close out of self-interest, not affection or anything like that), he had even found a way to do it without bothering Aziraphale.

And it had all been so easy. After all, Rome was full of temptation at the time, especially lust, teeming with endless orgies. So it was easy enough to find that one incubus who owed him a favor or two, and ask him to take the shape of the angel and fuck his brains out. And that was that. And by "that" he meant the most satisfying and yet unsatisfactory experience of his life. It was, simultaneously, everything that he wanted and nothing like what he'd dreamed of. But it was all he could get, so it would have to do. The incubus had been perfect, of course. Acting exactly like Aziraphale would, if he were to ever develop an interest in anyone. Gentle, surprised, confused, and yet thrilled and happy to oblige. That part had been wonderful. For a few precious moments, he really believed in it, and it was delicious. Delicious to get lost in tenderness, in the illusion of being wanted by someone so good, and, of course, in pleasure.

But then it had been over. The incubus had shifted back to his original form, and also did what any self-respecting demon would do: he mocked Crowley mercilessly.  
"You do know this will never actually happen, right?" He had said, smile sharp and genuinely amused. "An angel would never touch a creature like us. After all, we are repulsive to their kind. Think of how disgusted he would be if he knew what happened! Oh, I'd love to see his face!"  
"Yeah, yeah, I know" Crowley had answered, annoyance seeping into his voice. The incubus saw himself out, and Crowley tried to sleep, crushing any hint of sadness that would dare rear its ugly head. After all, now that he had given in to his temptation, he would finally be rid of it, and move on to more interesting things. Lusting after Aziraphale was rather time-consuming, and he had better things to do.

He had the decency to wait almost a whole century before he saw the incubus again. At first, anyway. But seeing the angel was harder after his indiscretion. The idea of reaching over the table to take Aziraphale's hand had seemed almost natural in the wake of his little tryst. He tried to ignore it, of course. But with each encounter, it became more troublesome. He had to put more effort into ignoring that hand. Into not imagining what it would feel like against his own, or against his lips, kissing each knuckle softly, slowly, as if not to spook the angel away. He mercilessly crushed the thought of Aziraphale's hands roaming over his body in adoration, giving every inch of his skin a soft caress, and repeating his name over and over, like a prayer he would gladly answer. He wanted those hands to stroke and take, to grab and linger. And for a while, his own hands and his infinite imagination would be enough. Until, of course, he just had to ask the incubus for more. Had to tell him in excruciating details what he wanted and how, averting his gaze, as if looking the other way would miraculously enable him to dodge the sheer humiliation he was feeling. There had been laughter and jabs, jokes at his expense he had tried to laugh at, and then, there had been ecstasy.  
For an hour, he had Aziraphale, gaze soft and loving smile, kissing every inch of his body, whispering his name tenderly. He had finally shaken beneath those hands he dreamed of, and remembered a time before the fall, a taste of heaven, felt a peace he never thought he would feel again. But then, those fingers had entered him, and he had felt whole, and more hollow than ever, suddenly acutely aware of the illusion he had created for himself, the wonderful torment he had trapped himself into, surrendering willingly to that sweet sorrow. And the rest of the encounter had just been bliss and desperation, in equal parts until it was all over and the incubus laughed at him once more.

Over the centuries, he kept indulging in his little illusion. But as the encounters became more frequent, he felt the increasing need to put more physical distance between him and the real Aziraphale. He would sit farther and farther away, lean less and less towards him. Of course, he would still tease him mercilessly about his manner of speaking and dressing, and get exceedingly drunk, discussing his feats of evilness and listening to the angel's miracles. But he would make sure there would be no physical contact. Aziraphale didn't need to be tainted by his hands as well as his thoughts and fantasies. He chose to show his… friendship (he still wouldn't call it anything but that. Demons lied after all, including to themselves) in actions rather than affectionate touches. Getting Aziraphale that one book he was looking for, taking him to a new restaurant he knew he would love, using small demonic interventions to get stains off of suits and, on more than one occasion, avoiding a rather nasty discorporation.  
But, unlike any self-respecting demon, he asked nothing in return. Until he needed holy water, of course. Or at least, until it was given to him.  
He had pleaded, pleaded Aziraphale to let him do anything to return the favor, knowing full well what he wanted to do to thank him, and not getting anywhere near suggesting it. Honestly he had almost bloody begged the bastard to let him give him a ride, and the only thing Aziraphale had said was: "You go too fast for me, Crowley."

Too fast? Too fast? Really. Too. Fucking. Fast. When he was very careful to not let any of his desires seep out, to hide any sort of unrequited interest, to not ask for anything more than friendship. Too bloody fast. Oh, he was going to show him fast. And by "him", he meant, of course, the incubus. After all, he was his only outlet for any kind of frustration he had with Aziraphale. That night, Crowley had been rough. All teeth and scratching and rocking his hips violently while straddling the fake angel, pulling hair, hissing, snarling really. It had all been anger, sadness and desperation, none or the sweetness and gentleness he craved. That night, the incubus had not laughed at him as much, feeling that this was the proper way to treat an angel. And Crowley had been more miserable than ever after he had left.

And for a while, life went on as usual. Lovely not-dates with Aziraphale, occasional visits from the incubus… Nothing to write home about really. It had been, all in all, rather pleasant and infuriatingly frustrating. Until the whole apocalypse thing, anyway. Everything happened fast, too fast for Crowley even, and, on more than one occasion, he had lost the cool and effortless facade he tried so hard to put up. He had pushed the angel against a wall (Satan only knows what he would have done had they not been interrupted), had begged him to run off with him to the stars, had lost him in his burning bookshop, and, along with him, all hope for anything at all. But they had been reunited, and, together, had fooled heaven and hell into leaving them alone.

And things had quickly returned back to a semblance of normalcy. Except for the fact that Crowley felt desperate. After losing Aziraphale, it had become harder and harder to call his feelings friendship. Worse, he had been ruminating some of the events, remembering how Aziraphale had told him "we're not friends, I don't even like you". Not friends. So there was no use calling it friendship anymore, on his part. No use pretending. Not even friends. He knew, of course, that the angel did like him, did enjoy his company. But it was an angel's job to be kind and compassionate and empathetic, so that only meant that Aziraphale was doing his job exceedingly well. But Crowley wasn't his friend. It seemed what he had mistaken for friendship was no more than a begrudging alliance. He figured that, after that dinner at the Ritz, that perfect, amazing moments, he should take his distance. Remain on a high note, and so on. If you have to go, go in style, right?  
Of course, he'd miss seeing Aziraphale as often as he did during that week but… well, he has ways to compensate for that. To make sure that, for a few precious minutes, he would finally feel wanted. Cherished. Good.  
So he did what he always did. He saw the incubus again.

***********  
Hell had decided to leave Crowley alone, but Hastur still thought some kind of payback was needed. The incubus had been surprised and delighted to get the call. If Hell couldn't have physical pain and annihilation, then they would turn to emotional pain and humiliation. And well, the incubus was happy to oblige.  
It was easy enough. All he had to do was imitate Crowley's voice, take a phone, dial the number and say: "Angel! It's been a while! Fancy a little dinner tomorrow? Come meet me at my place, I'll show you a good time". Aziraphale had been happy to agree.  
Oh, this was gonna be lovely.

***********  
Aziraphale was delighted to hear from Crowley. After the Armageddon't, they had gone back to their version of normalcy, and Aziraphale had been quite flabbergasted when he realised he missed seeing Crowley. They had returned to being less present in each other's lives, and, well… he had been lonely. He had dared to hope that there would be more meals like the one at the Ritz, lovely companionship, walks in the park, drinks at the bookstore.But it was harder for him to admit that part of him also hoped for more. Well, it wasn't very proper, for a start, but then again, neither was having dinner with a demon. Why would holding hands be any different? Or… or kissing or whatever else it was humans did to show affection. He had felt tempted to do so since the Blitz, after all, and he figured that, now that their respective sides had decided to leave them alone, well, it was as good a time as any to broach the topic.  
He merely hoped he would not spook Crowley away. After all, that dear boy had not reacted well to him merely saying he was nice, back in Tadfield, and Heaven only knew how he might react upon learning that Aziraphale actually thought quite highly of him. How would he react to his friendship and affection and… love?  
Too flustered with the prospect of the conversation to come, Aziraphale did not dare linger on the topic. He would have to see, now, would he not?  
So it was with great trepidation indeed that he took a cab to Crowley's place.

He rang the doorbell several times. There was no answer. Aziraphale told himself he was not usually easily irritated or frustrated, but on that occasion, he did feel rather annoyed and impatient. After all, Crowley had asked him to come, and he was leaving him to wait at the door, filled with anxiety at the prospect of telling him how he felt. No. That wouldn't do.  
He miracled the door open, and stepped in.

The apartment was dark, and seemingly empty. He walked in, trying the living room first, and then, he heard a voice. And not any voice, oh no. Crowley's voice. But something was wrong. He sounded… plaintive, strained and vulnerable. And he was calling out his name.  
A sudden dread filled him. Was Crowley in danger? Or in pain? He had to go find him.  
He hard the voice again, weak, almost a whisper: "Aziraphale. Pleassssse. Pleassssse." The hissing was not a good sign. It meant he was no longer quite in control. Aziraphale moved faster, and when he reached the bedroom door, he hard it again: "Please, say it, angel. I need to hear you sssssay it". To his own shock, he heard is own voice answer: "I love you. I love you so much". Crowley only answered with a moan.

Aziraphale pushed the door open.

Well. He didn't know what he was expecting to find, but he surely was not expecting that. Crawley was lying on his back, naked, legs spread, with… well, what looked like Aziraphale lying on top of him, thrusting gently, in slow, long motions, and gazing into his eyes. And Crowley… he had never seen him look so… happy. So utterly blissful and content. Something in Aziraphale ached and the sight, something angry, sad and jealous. But before he had any time to process what he was seeing and feeling, the creature wearing his face turned towards him with a wicked smile, and took Crowley out of his lovely daze by simply saying: "Look, darling, we have an audience".

Every trace of joy poured away from Crowley's face. What was left was an unearthly pallor, making his uncovered eyes look even wider as they moved from one Aziraphale to another, filled with panic.  
Before Aziraphale could gather his wits to do or say something, anything, the creature's body shifted into another form. Ah. An incubus. Things were starting to make sense now, but he was still too stunned to manage to move, too shocked to form coherent thoughts, much less talk.

The incubus's movements were swift. He grabbed Crowley by the jaw and lifted his face from the pillows where his head had been resting. He… slipped out of him and slid behind him, still holding his head in place, kneeling behind the demon, and spoke in his ear, loud enough for Aziraphale to hear, and looking at him dead in the eye.

"Now he knows, hmm? He knows how pathetic and disgusting you are. Using him to fulfil your deprived little fantasies." He pulled at Crowley's hair roughly, drawing a hiss of pain. His smile was evil. Full of malice and glee. He paused for effect, and resumed talking, his voice deceivingly soft, filled with mock-pity. "What will he think of you now? Now that he knows what you and I have been doing for centuries? Now that he knows what a pitiful, idiotic slut you are?"  
He laughed then, happy. Genuinely happy. As if had been the best day of his life.  
Crowley didn't say anything. Didn't look at Aziraphale. His face was more unreadable than ever, carefully schooled into a blank slate.  
The incubus stood up, still smiling, turned to Crowley and said lightly: "Hastur sends his regards. You know you deserved it."

And with that, he left.

There was silence then. Aziraphale still struggled to say anything, move, do anything. But… what was there to say? He wasn't even sure he knew what was going on. Crowley had … with an incubus… but he looked like Aziraphale? And he had begged him to say… to say…  
When it dawned on him, the only thing that came out of his mouth was:  
"Oh, my dear boy, I…"  
He was interrupted, however, by Crowley's voice, angry beyond words, yelling:  
"Get out. OUT. GET OUT!"  
Aziraphale tried to argue, but he was quite literally pushed out the door. When he lingered in front of the closed bedroom, he heard Crowley's voice again, cursing loudly, then screaming in his direction: "I TOLD YOU TO LEAVE. OUT. NOW!"

So Aziraphale did the only thing he could think of. He obliged.

***********

The phone had been ringing incessantly. Crowley ignored it. He'd much rather destroy his furniture, feel sorry for himself and scream until his voice was hoarse, thank you very much. Talking to Aziraphale was the last thing on his list. Because that would mean hearing the pity, or worse, the disgust in his voice. That would mean having to explain himself. That would mean having to admit that yes, he really was pathetic enough to ask an incubus to shag him while looking like his best friend. And those were not things he was looking forward to doing.  
So he decided to sulk. And brood. Like the pathetic fool he was. What else could he do, really?  
The phone kept ringing and ringing, reminding him every time, with its shrill tone, how badly he had fucked everything up.

***********  
Aziraphale was tired of calling. By now, he knew he shouldn't have left at all, and he could regretfully admit that he had been a bit of a coward. But… the situation had not at all been like what he had in mind, and… he was more than a bit put off by the thought of that vile incubus in bed with Crowley for centuries. Especially after seeing the way he had treated him. No, that wouldn't do at all. How could someone so vicious have the privilege of seeing Crowley so vulnerable and happy, so open. More tender than he himself had ever had ever had the chance to see him. The thought made him so angry. Oh, he had half a mind to go smite that incubus but… he knew he would never do such a thing. He didn't have the heart.  
So instead, he called Crowley, over and over, hoping the demon would pick up the phone and agree to meet him. To talk to him.  
When he realized, after a few days, that it wouldn't happen, he decided to take the matter into his own hands.

He knew that, if Crowley didn't answer his call, the chances that he would open the door were slim. So, feeling more than slightly guilty, Aziraphale let himself in.

The flat was uncharacteristically messy. Extremely messy. Shards of glass were laying on the ground, broken objects everywhere. And Crowley was sitting on his throne, among the destruction. He didn't turn when he heard footsteps. Instead, he used his most cheerful and carefree tone to say: "Hello Aziraphale! Fancy seeing you here. If you've come for a show, I'm sorry to disappoint you but there won't be one today."

Taken aback, Aziraphale simply cleared his throat, searching for words. But Crowley didn't give him time, and resumed talking after a few seconds of heavy silence: "Yes, well, since you've come for nothing, then, feel free to see yourself out."

Taking a deep breath, Aziraphale steeled his nerves and finally managed to speak.  
"I have no intention of leaving, my dear".  
Crowley snarled, suddenly angry: "Well what the hell do you want, then? If you want an apology, you should wait a century or two because I've been humiliated enough as if is!"  
"No, dear, that's not…"  
"Oh what then? You want me to reassure you that I would never touch you? Well don't worry I wouldn't put you through the torture of having a creature like myself put his cursed hands on you and take away your precious purity!"  
"No, I…"  
"You what?" Crowley interrupted, furious and impatient.  
"Well… I would very much like to touch you, dear, but I would rather start with holding your hand… and… maybe a kiss. If that's alright with you."  
Crowley stared. And said nothing. He was visibly stunned and at a loss for words. Aziraphale found it quite amusing.  
"You… you want to kiss me?"  
"Very much so, yes."  
"So… you're not angry with me, then?" Crowley said, hopeful.  
"Well, actually, I am, a bit." Aziraphale answered, too honest for his own good.  
"Ah." Crowley answered, at once proud and dejected.  
"Oh, come on, you have to understand. How would you react if you found the one you love in bed with someone?"  
At that, Crowley stood up and started stalking slowly towards Aziraphale.  
"The one you what?"  
"Oh, you heard me perfectly well, you old serpent" Aziraphale answered, amused and affectionate.  
Crowley was very near him now, looking at him straight in the eyes, inches away from his face.  
"You love me, angel?" He asked, voice thick with disbelief.  
"I do".  
And then Crowley kissed him. Slow, careful and gentle, as if he thought one wrong move might make him flee.

When they broke the kiss, Aziraphale said, voice shaky, yet full of determination.  
"Well. Good. That was very nice. I'm afraid you'll have to err… wait a bit if you want to do much more than that, however."  
"I think I could be fine with that", Crowley answered.  
"I do not want you to see that incubus again, though."  
"Why would I? I have you."  
"Alright, then. Dinner?"  
"Sure, why not."

As they left, hand in hand, Aziraphale sighed, content.  
It was awkward for a bit between them, but, after a few dinners and quite a lot of kissing and holding hands, things were better than ever.

***********  
As it turns out, Crowley didn't have to wait quite as long as he had imagined.  
And the sex was… well, it was nothing like he had thought it would be. Their first time had been a little clumsier, for a start. Fumbling and laughing at awkward moments. It was also full of complicity and conniving glances. It was full of joy and emotion. And well, love and mushy feelings and lovey-dovey crap.

All in all, it was much better than anything he had dared to hope it would be.


End file.
